Love Knows No Gender or Other Trivial Things
by PrettyPissedOffBisexual
Summary: Dean Winchester is a transgender man in the Deep South, a place where the Bible trumps over all. To many, he, or she as they see him is a nobody, someone nobody will talk to. Will one girl make his live better? And will she truly accept him? Or will Dean ruin it like every other relationship? Trans!Dean/Fem!Cas


To Dean Winchester, aged 17, high school was boring as _hell_. It was more boring than listening to his little brother, Sammy, talk about school, or demons that he was strangely interested in, or him bitching about their alcoholic transphobic ass of a father.

High school was also literal hell. Dean was a not-officially-out transgender man living in the Deep South, where churches were on every corner. This meant that Dean was forced to wear frilly dresses every Sunday when he or "she" as he was known by the local church congregation, attended the long and incredibly offensive services. Dean was a stranger to his own body. He didn't like the curves he inherited from his long dead mother, Mary, who also gave him his blond hair, which he had chopped off at the first opportunity.

Instead of the ripped, fit body Dean so desperately wanted to be in, he was stuck with C cup boobs, a heavy period, and "feminine" features.

Dean didn't have any friends. He kept to himself, usually strumming an air guitar while listening to classic rock, or brooding in the back of empty classrooms. Girls saw him as a freak: he didn't use makeup, or grow out his hair, or listen to any stereotypical country artists. Guys saw him as one of them, but not officially one of them. It was a weird, and often uncomfortable spot to be in. So, Dean usually sat sketching what he thought would be his guardian angel: a tall man in a trench coat, with glorious wings and a permanent scowl. Dean wasn't very religious, yet he still prayed for this angel to save him.

The picture of his mother, Mary, on his desk was dusty, so Dean picked it up and polished it. The picture was of him and Mary cuddling after Sam had been born. She had died soon after, from a rare form of cancer. Dean missed his mother greatly, even though he was very young when she died. She was a warm glow of love and energy, and his fondest memories were of her stroking his cheeks when he was sad or sick. Today was the 12 year anniversary of her death, and his asshole of a father was drowning out his sorrows with a bottle of Jack.

Sam, Dean's brother, barged into Dean's room while Dean was sketching yet another picture of the mysterious guardian angel. "Deanna! So, get this. Dad isn't responsive, so Uncle Bobby said he was gonna come over for a bit."

Dean groaned and unsuccessfully hid his drawing from Sam. "Sammy, I told you, can you please try not to barge in? And are you ready? I need to drop you off at school."

Sam frowned. "I guess. What's that you're drawing?"

"Nothing," Dean replied quickly, "Just get in the car. Don't try to wake Dad."

"Whatever." Sam said, looking at the place where the drawing had been previously.

Dean grabbed his backpack, shoved his unfinished sketch inside, ran down the stairs as quietly as possible, out of the house, and into the garage. There, sitting before him, was his prized possession, a 1967 Chevrolet Impala. It had been his only inheritance from his mother, and he received it as a present for his 16th birthday. Sam was already inside, with his nose buried deep inside a heavy book with symbols scrawled all over. "Sammy," Dean said forcefully, "I told you not to read those books."

Sammy mumbled something incoherent, so Dean sighed and started up the car.

They cruised in silence, with Dean's mind occupied with the new school year, his guardian angel, and questioning sexuality, and Sam's interest in the occult.

Looking out the window as he drove, Dean took in the scenery, and the houses for sale all over the working class neighborhood. There was a For-Sale! sign in the process of being taken down by a lady in stiletto heels, while a girl, a girl who matched Dean's numerous drawings, rushed to get all her things together. Dean slowed down, hoping to get her attention.

"Hey," He called out to her, "Need a ride?"

The girl looked up in surprise. "Really? That would be great."

She came over slowly, her coat, a trench coat, billowing out behind her as she walked. The girl got in, shut the door, and smiled at Dean. "Thanks for that," She said shyly, looking into Dean's eyes as she talked, "I'm Cassidy, Cassidy Novak. My family just moved here from Illinois."

Cassidy pulled her messy dark brown hair back into a ponytail, and then looked back at Sam, who hadn't bothered to look up from his book. "Interesting read, huh? It's better if you can read Enochian."

Sam looked up in surprise, while Dean just sighed. He knew it. This girl, the spitting image of the person in his dreams, would talk to his brother over him.

"Uh, I mean I guess its good." Sam stammered, perplexed that anyone, much less the new girl, would know what he was reading.

Cassidy turned back to Dean, with a wide smile on her face. "My family is sort of, well, very religious to say the least. If I were a boy, I would be named Castiel."

Sam chimed in, "Oh, the angel of Thursday?"

Smiling, Cassidy replied with, "No, actually. The lore says that he only had domain over a couple hours on Thursday."

They drove along in silence, with Cassidy gazing out the window, Sam gathering his belongings, and Dean focusing his eyes on the road.

Finally, they reached the local middle school, where Sam was starting out as a sixth grader. The shy eleven year old grabbed his bag, smiled at Cassidy, and then turned to Dean. "See ya, Deanna. Uncle Bobby should pick me up."

Dean watched as Sam walked away, calling out, "Bye Sammy!" His voice felt foreign and strange to him, as it was high pitched, and very, very feminine. He turned to Cassidy. "You nervous?"

Cassidy smiled shyly at him, not knowing what to say. "Yes."

Dean gripped the steering wheel awkwardly. Cassidy had been more talkative when Sam was here, but now she was as uptight as the local pastor whenever homosexuality was brought up.

"So…" He trailed off, looking at her. "Tell me about your family."

"We're all named after angels, sadly. There's Michael, Gabriel, Samadriel, but everyone calls him Sammy, Isiah, even though that's just a prophet's name, and Anael, but everyone calls her Anna."

"Anael," Dean laughed at the suggestive name. "Who came up with _that_ name?"

Cassidy frowned, her deep blue eyes staring into Dean's soul. "What's so funny?"

Dean stifled another laugh before replying. "Nothing. Nothing. Just an unusual name, that's all." Phew. He didn't want to ruin a friendship with the only girl, the only person even, who would voluntarily talk to him. He slowly looked over again, trying not to catch her eye. She was still staring.

She turned to face the front, picking at her nails and fidgeting. The rest of the car ride was quiet, until Cassidy spoke up while Dean was parking his car. "It's Hebrew for 'Joy of God', assbutt," Cassidy stuttered quickly, as she grabbed her bags and scrambled out of the car.

Dean sighed as he got out, running his hair through his fingers. Great. He had fucked up majorly already, and it was over a _name_. A goddamn name.

This was a bad sign. This girl, the girl with the dark brown hair and bright soul staring eyes, with her big trench coat, the feminine version of the angel in his dreams, would now not talk to him over a sentence.

He groaned loudly, loud enough for the couple sucking face in the car next to him to turn, stare, and get out quickly. Dean looked at the high school, Truman High School, and walked quickly to his first class.


End file.
